


For to me

by Sinikettu



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Guardians of the Galaxy - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Comfort/Angst, Gen, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Mental Instability, Rocket swear like a sailor in this one, Schadenfreude, Space Stations, Space weirdness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 19:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9840479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinikettu/pseuds/Sinikettu
Summary: Rocket's never been much of a team player or one to show much personal affection. Nothings ever been done for him but plenty to him. Neither has he felt a tender touch in his life until the touch of tiny vine from Groot before he dies and the gentle petting from Drax. And what's this family thing, is it something edible? His learning but its a slow going process.-Originally published at FF.-





	1. For to me these paws have killed

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't going to publish this at AO3 at all in the beginning but I've figured that a few new peer reviews might spark me to finish it in timely manner.  
> Mostly set to movie-verse with some elements of 616-universe thrown in the mix.

**For to me these paws have killed**

 

I look at the Xandarian apple in my paws, hands really, which Star-lord had so casually thrown at my direction.

Those tiny little raccoon hands, and I realize that I can no longer recall when the operation was done, or was I born with opposable thumbs? But what I do recall is that at some point my lateral and metacarpal bones were enhanced to make them stronger. One can only surmise that the genetic rewrites had not been enough for whatever purpose it was that they had created me for, and thus that operation was done to me, always to me, never for me just like everything else in my life.

They never asked me 'hey little fella, ya wanna be smart and handle big guns and walk and talk like us?' My consent was a distant concern to them, even after being given the ability to do so, along with my suffering.

I blink at the question, realizing that Peter had just asked something from me. 'No I'm fine. Yeah sure, give me that thing' I say accepting the peeling knife without even looking at my hands while I roll and keep the apple in place between my back paws while peeling it with the knife at the left paw while doing my actual job, steering the ship, with the right paw. I don't need to see what I'm doing -I can 'see' with my paws as it is, but Star-lord stares at my lightning fast 'blind peeling' as if it were some kind of circus act.

I then flick the knife back to him and take a chomp from the fruit. 'What?* I ask with my gaze. Macerating the apple. He frowns at the peels on the floor before leaving and I realize that I had actually entertained the thought of eating them later.

'I'll clean them up, sure' I reply with faked honesty and hope he doesn't notice the slip. They form a pattern of three, maybe I could clean them with three swipes and then shake my head but it nags me, making me lick and dry wash my paws, mmhh fruit juice! Three taps on the console -autopilot set. Three parsec to destination but the planet is fourth in the system. Yeah, I should maybe eat two more apples, yeah that way I won't get hungry and hit on an asteroid field due to lack of concentrating for being hungry and low on blood sugar. With three hand swipes I've picked my litter from the floor. With three times three steps I've disposed them to the bin.

I hit my elbow hard upon landing at the bottom of the shallow ditch to evade the blast. The soreness of my bruised elbow and shoulder are nothing in comparison to the pain I return when I throw my own grenade back at them. I peek up and nod, noticing how my grenade took them all and wince at the pain radiating from the arm, especially my elbow when I crawl out of the ditch. Just another thing they did to me. Changed my whole upper body from Scapula to ball and socket joint configuration, the other being fuso-carbon lacing throughout my skeleton. I don't recall ever asking to be able to throw explosives with a pinpoint accuracy or to have a skeletal structure that's nearly unbreakable, today it pays off tomorrow maybe not.

Star-lord is angry at me. 'We were supposed to take them alive, Rocket!' -he yells at me and gets into one of those weird morality rants of his when I point out that our contract didn't specify this. Groot whispers to me asking whether I'm alright. 'I'm fine you big lug but they're not and that's the main point'. I grab my gun and reload a fresh cartridge. Our glorious leader seems slightly confused, probably wondering where we're supposed to go next. I could tell him but decide to let him sweat as a revenge for yelling at me. He does that a lot and fairly often it's for a reason, I admit. So let him stew for it a bit. I look at the motion detector mounted to my gun. Nothing else moving but us at the yard, but I know these things aren't terribly reliable despite what some people might think. There's an occasional blip but I know from the movement pattern that they're just leaves or native vermin moving through the underbrush and note as much to my comrades.

Without any clear and present danger in sight I concentrate briefly on my current and (probably) soon erstwhile companions. Why get attached? We can likely keep this gig going for another few months then they'll tell me to leave or I leave myself with Groot. Just like it's been with all the other groups I've worked with in the past sans Groot but Groot's different. Drax seems as oblivious as ever -not to his surroundings but everything else, I think I can work with that at least for now. Gamora, now there's a dangerous individual if I've ever seen a one, the most dangerous woman in the Galaxy, they say. Has nice racks and damn sexy set of bionics too but don't tell her I said it. Currently having occasional subconscious flirting going on with Quill. Don't know how it works, don't care, but I sure can sense it, and I'm guessing that so can Quill. Flirting, dancing, 'making out', I don't get that, what's it for? I don't think it's got anything to do with mating or copulating really since all bald bodies seem fond of it, which makes it an interspecies thing. I used to get those urges two maybe three times a year but they've mostly faded now, There will never be anyone compatible to me, so why waste the energy on searching and dreaming? Nah, I just get a hot water bottle and room in a motel. Hole in with a cask of booze and let it breeze past in a day or two if the 'spell' hits hard.

"Oh, good going there 'Action Jackson' " I mutter mostly to myself, whatever that weird Terran thing is, "you got the door open and its actually the right one". It's a big storage space half empty of boxes and shipping containers and its pretty dark but I can see in the dark almost as well in the light AAND my motion detector gets wild... Honestly, Peter 'Star-lord' Quill is a genuine trouble magnet. Never a dull moment with that guy around. Drax is already on it as the dear leader unfolds his visor before following right at his heels, yelling some kind of Terran stock encouragement as if Drax was going to need one. Fine you go first and I'll stay here and don't get plasma in the face or possibly a kick in the nuts, except well, I guess I'll kind of have to charge in as well now so they don't think I'm not pulling my weight. Even though this 'charging in with guns blazing' is tactically as stupid as it can get. Gamora rolls her eyes, looking at me, seeming to agree with my opinion on this 'tactic' and draws her blaster gun and sword as I climb on Groot's shoulder, once the big guy's cleared the doorway, to shoot over the boxes and shit littering the room. I yell and laugh while doing it, it's almost cathartic.


	2. For to me must thine number be Reckoned, beast!

**For to me must thine number be Reckoned, beast!**

 

"Okay that was fun but the game's over punks." I announce with a smirk. Mainly 'cause they're pretty much dead, except those few unlucky sods. I don't care, they ain't going nowhere when Drax is holding them by the scruff of the neck until Quill can zap them unconscious with his gun. Mission accomplished, return to ship, report to Nova, caching-caching, money well earned and soon spent. It's still kinda dark in here so I switch on the lights. Time to see what's in the boxes. I love opening boxes. If those jerks were willing to die for it, it's got to be worth something and nobody knows if I swipe a box or two, right? "Come on help me out a bit, Groot". Groot obliges by cracking some of the containers, closest to me, open. 'Well damn these guns ain't worth squat'. "What the flark is this? They're all just junk, damn it." Were we just ordered by Nova Corps to kill a warehouse full of jerks for scrap? This stuff is a far cry from what we were told they were trafficking in the briefing. I kick at the parts I had spilt on the floor. Some of them landing on Drax's boot end with a thud.

Peter seems perplexed, Gamora is taking the news in a stride and Drax as usual, asks the poignant question, holding and examining a piece of trigger mechanism at his palm. "I do not see anything wrong, they're perfectly serviceable parts. Why are you upset Rocket? "Serviceable, yeah twenty years ago when neodymium rails in flechette guns were still a thing. Cheap, medium powered and relatively versatile -just what the military needs when at war." I collect my breath to express my disappointment more clearly. "and that's exactly the point, numb nuts! These were supposed to be high end, the cutting edge -tech, not this junkyard garbage, don't you see we've been had you big oaf, for once try and rub those two beans together for that tiny spark!" I practically yell at him, feeling the need to vent my frustration.

"Do not compare me to vegetables, creepy beast!" He retorts back with a glare. "hey, hey, hey! No need to get into personal, Ranger Rick -Draxie boy!" Peter exclaims getting between me and the gray lummox and lays his other hand on my muzzle and forehead since its at the same height as Drax's lower body, to push us a part. I'd be lying if I'd say there isn't an instinct involved with what happens next. His barely puts his hand on me before I react and bite him on the offending palm -hard. There's a sickening crunch as my teeth sink through the faux-leather gauntlet but I don't let go until he drops to his knees from pain so I can reach up to claw at his eyes and then I'd slash his stomach open with my back paws but something grasps and yanks me away from Peter before I can do the real hurt on the idiot, daring to invade my private space like that. I struggle furiously for a moment until my brain catches on with what's going on and I realize it's Groot with his vines, holding me tight.

I glare and huff at their incredulous stares. "Shit, man! Why'd you do that for? God damn it. That really fuckin' hurt!" Peter spits gritting his teeth, shaking and clutching the bloodied palm in pain. And I wonder if I should explain how I'm pretty much 'wired' to react like that if you suddenly stick your hand on my face like that but I decide against it. They already see me as animal enough without getting instincts into play. 'Don't you dare to touch me' is the best I can come up with. I'm not sure if he buys it as an excuse but I sure as frakk aren't apologizing. Drax glares at me again and nobody says a word as we stare at our each other's until we break apart and head out. Groot finally lets go off me and grabs the prisoners and Star-lord announces what everyone else were already planning. "C'mon guys, let's blow this joint and let the Nova care the rest." I'm too miffed to care to have even a few of the parts as a souvenir for my ever growing spares collection, the way I'm often wanting to do.

"Why'd you let the little beast wound you without retaliating appropriately, doesn't it only encourage the malicious behavior?" I hear Drax, asking from Peter, thinking that I can't hear them from this far. Their whispered conversation makes my hair bristle. "No, that's not how you deal with animals that have been abused in the past. Look, while Rocky's lot smarter than your average dog or really anything you'd call a pet, the main principles are the same. They bite and scratch because they're afraid of being hurt by the touch and-."

"What's a dog?" Drax interrupts Peter. "It's a popular companion animal that looks like Cosmo -you know the animal in that space suit at Knowhere?" Peter elaborates.

"Are they telepathic on Terra too?" Asks Gamora, now slightly intrigued. "No, Cosmo's different. They're just animals back in Terra, just dumb beasts like Raccoons." He explains further.

Am I really that? Just a beast, slightly smarter than normal, to them. Some kind of mascot. I try not to think too much on it but it burns and I just zone out the remaining conversation they're having. And Groot, Groot doesn't say anything. He probably knows why I do what I do even better than I do, though it doesn't mean that he necessarily agrees with all my actions, but nor will he readily judge me for them.

_"Subject-89p13!" The bailiff calls. I refuse to acknowledge the call. 'my name IS Rocket. Not that string of numbers 'n letters' I think to myself. He looks at me directly with an annoyed frown. "Subject-89p13!" He announces one more time, and this time he articulates it with such care that I realize it's because he thinks that maybe I'm not quite intelligent enough to reckon 'my name' if it's not clearly appointed to me. I keep silent, cross my arms and refuse to move from my seat inside the van. The other prisoners are starting to smirk and whoop at my display of defiance. As a prisoner you don't get too many chances to display your recalcitrance without swift reprimand, so they're taking what little they can get through me, and I'm fine with that._

_"Get a move on, rat. We don't have all day!" One of the two big guards accompanying the bailiff grumbles brandishing his stun baton for emphasis which quells the jeering peanut gallery for a second. "Frakk you tin button." I growl in response but do as I'm told and move out into the courthouse yard from the transport vehicle, full of other "guilty until proven innocents" waiting for their turn at the court. Someone whistles and few stomp their feet jeeringly when I'm exiting. It's a big imposing building as is proper for a star-system district court._

_At first the judge is dubious about the charges laid on me, -vehicular theft, arson and some minor larceny, but he sets the maximum sentence and liberally sprinkles it with assault & Grievous bodily harm and contempt to court when I completely lose my shit after my state appointed advocate has presented my behavioural defence; comparing me to a loyal but lost pet desperate to find its master, a pet who was starving and just trying to get home. I only manage to rip my advocates ear off while yelling- "My name IS Rocket. I ain't no frackin pet, rat or vermin and certainly not Subject-89p13 you asshole! And don't you bastard ever forget it" -to full court. I have committed to rather get the max for murder with the possibility of dying in prison before allowing myself to being acquitted in the grounds of being a flarking pet!' Then the stun batons come up and I go down and I wake up in yet another prison._

Learning to eat the insults from the right people while viciously avenging the same for the rest to avoid being beaten up in prison is not a great way to build your character but it does lend you a reputation; bad enough to make them leave you be for the most part. That court wasn't my first rodeo and most certainly not the last. I was already as hard as they come by the time I'd gone through my third prison term and I'd reckon that eventually the only reason I wasn't simply put down like a rabid beast when caught again was the fact that I had finally managed to convince the Nova corps that I was more than just a smart animal - I had been 'upgraded' from beast to lowlife thug.

And there lies the rub, in Xandar held space any sentient beings, registered as resident or natural born citizens, have plenty of civil rights. While unregistered people and common animals have their law given rights starkly defined and restricted in comparison, they still have plenty when compared to former test subjects and escaped lab projects, whose legal status as a person are practically none existing. They're just property owned by their creators, their level of sapience and/or sentience is largely irrelevant to property laws. In fact, if you're caught helping such a 'runaway project' and don't immediately report it, there's a good chance that you'll end up being accused of theft or illegal possession of stolen goods. Help the poor thing 'breed' and you're inviting for a piracy lawsuit when the megacorp 'owning' the project gets a wind of it.

I dodged the 'owners rights' by hiding & evading their search parties for so long that their fair ownership rights became expired, from that point on I was basically subjected to laws governing 'abandoned property' and thus 'the new owner' of myself. With that the Nova corps had no legal grounds to ship me back to the labs from which I had escaped from without gaining my written consent to 'relinquish the property I had salvaged in good faith'. Yeah, I'm not sure how that's supposed to work exactly with 'property' who actively works to hide itself from being found but I don't really care either as long as I'm never going back there.

I sigh loudly, coming out from my reverie and stop near the exit, pointing my gun and the motion detector towards the exit. Multiple blips moving fast on our direction. 'Well, guys. Flight or fight? We've got at least twenty more bogies coming in fast." I announce as if it were the most normal thing. Drax sounds eager as usual. Gamora, who knows from that stone face? Groot looks almost annoyed. Peter seems thoughtful and then asks if there's another way out. "Nope, no such thing boss, unless we make our own." I confirm. "That's a lot of enemies but nothing we can't take, right guys?" he admits but is determined to see us through it. "I can even out the numbers a little with this baby" I announce gleefully and get to work on setting the infra-red triggered claymore-mines across the doorway. "I know what I said about no killing... but you just can't please everyone, I guess." Peter consents sarcastically as we retreat further back inside the warehouse so we won't get caught in our own trap when it explodes.

Aww, the shrapnel mine takes only the first batch of enemies out for good but I don't mind too much as I wade into yet another gun fight. Seeing your friends ripped apart by a booby-trap does interesting things to group morale, such as making half of them tail and run or simply refuse to move forward. Either one should work for our advantage.

We've won again but it doesn't matter. Destruction lays around me, soot clings to my scorched fur and tattered suit, the acrid scent of laser burnt flesh flares my sinuses. Groot reaches down to embrace me, to which I involuntarily flinch and move away from. No touching, not now, not in front of them! I take my gun from the ground and flip it to my shoulders for carry and flinch from the spike of pain flaring from the bruises. Usually there's a sense of urgency to chase away the hollow feel after the battle and the adrenaline rush, a reason to focus on something else beyond the emptiness but we're no longer in a hurry. The enemy is defeated, mission is accomplished. All that is left is to walk back to our ship and leave this planet. I can hear my comrades cheering their one another as if this carnage was some great thing worth celebrating, perhaps it was. Peter is trying to teach Drax about the secrets of 'high fiving' and even Groot is smiling a little for the job well-done when we're walking back to ship. Only Gamora is not smiling, she's looking at me though she tries to hide it into sideward glances. I know what she tries not to see, the old scars and the implants on my back and the new ones all over my limbs, revealed by my torn suit and limping gait.

It doesn't matter what they think, I need no pity from anyone, I'm stronger than that. Show no pain, show no mercy and you'll be fine. No weakness and they'll let you be. it'll pass in time, the pain, it always has. 'You don't need anyone, you've survived worse. You're not a pet to be coddled and comforted. You're a mean ass fighting machine, yeah.' I try to convince myself but a nagging voice whispers to me, 'That's what you are and nothing more. -Half machine half something else, just a mean, ugly and horribly mutilated monster, built to kill, it's what you were meant to do, it's what you do best, where you're good at, the only thing that's ever been 'good' in you'. And deep down I know it to be right.


	3. For to me there's the issue of maintenance

**For to me there's the issue of maintenance**

 

There's nothing worth saying on our way back. We're all just too happy to be back on the Milano in one piece. Star-lord uses his remote device to open the hatch and we pile in for takeoff.

"Let's blow this joint guys. We can get ourselves cleaned up once we're safe." He announces and pats me jovially on the shoulder as he passes. I snarl viciously at the touch on my injured shoulder though I quietly echo his sentiment as we mimic his example and scramble in haste to strap in on our seats.

I dutifully take my place as the co-pilot and end up doing most of the work to get us airborne since our glorious leader is unable to properly steer with just one hand, therefore mostly just moping how he 'can't stop that feeling' and keeps on bitching about his injured hand during acceleration. "Gods, it was one time only. It's not like the fricking thing's about to fall off. It's even bandaged and as far as I know I was never implanted with venom glands. So stop bitching already, It'll d'ast well heal in time." I announce. I'm having enough of his simpering and jump out of my chair as soon as we've reached the fifth Lagrange point, deciding to retreat to my room or should I say _our_ room seeing how I share it with Groot. "We're at Lagrange point, Star-baby. You're free to take as long as you wish to punch the coordinates into nav. computer to reach Xandar." I inform rather snidely as I take my leave and feel a touch of smile creep up as I hear him muttering 'what the hell's Le Grande point? I bet the furball just makes them up as he goes.' Groot follows me as usual. I let my gun stay where I've left it on the floor by the air lock as we pass it. I shouldn't be needing it for the foreseeable 24h though I suppose it needs the basic after battle clean-up at some point.

Our 'room' does sound a bit grand to me, when I think of how it came to be, as I lay down on my cot while Groot takes his usual corner. He doesn't quite need sleep the way other species do but he does tire and sort of slows down for a few hours at each night cycle. Me on the other hand; while I often do things diurnally, I am actually more happy as crepuscular or nocturnal. Unfortunately most intelligent species in the Galaxy are diurnal. One of these days I'd like to place thicker metal on the walls of our 'room' so I could reliably attach some shelves and have more privacy. Right now there's just a few plast-steel travel chests and my cot to provide storage and table surfaces as needed. I don't really need that much space or furniture and neither does Groot but I would like some better soundproofing. In fact the whole room didn't even exist when Nova rebuilt the ship. Their engineers had drawn plans for three rooms, Drax's, Gamora's and ofc. Quill's who already occupied that one actual sleeping room. It seems that they assumed that I wouldn't need a room for being just a small animal and Groot was just a twig in a pot... Though initially quite miffed, I soon struck a deal with Quill to be allowed to haul in a few thin sheets of plast-steel and welded them together to form a small room space for me and Groot. Thin sheets, because adding too much 'junk' onboard would adversarially effect the ships handling and fuel consumption and nobody really wanted that as the other option would have been a total engine overhaul which we really couldn't afford and still don't -at least not to the specs at which point I'm willing to do the work for it.

Hmph, maybe the big guy really is more tired than I assumed seeing as how his already in his "real tree"-state. I'm tired too but first I'm going to need a shower, a few Band-Aids for the scrapes and a good grooming after to get all this crap off my fur. I get back from the shower room, with a towel draped around me like a cloak as I stand at the open doorway, immediately sensing that I'm not alone in the darkened room. I switch on the lights more for Gamora's convenience than mine. The sudden harsh light stings my eyes. I notice her carrying the portable medi-kit case. That case of medical tools has become awfully familiar in the past few months, I reckon.

"What are you doing here. Did Peter send you to check on me? Well, you can tell him I can manage washing and bandaging myself just fine on my own. Besides Groot's here too." I accuse her.

She mostly shrugs at my hostility as if expecting no less. "No, I don't need his permission nor prompt for this." I squint my eyes in suspicion, nobody does shit like this for fun. "Ohh, really? Sure it's not to have a second go at the freak show?"

"I am Groot!" Groot grumbles from the corner and opens one eye to glare admonishingly at me. "Mind your manners Rocket, she's just being nice." Is what he says but I'm not in the mood to translate. "Oh, come on that's just unfair-" I spit instead as a reply.

"We are Groot." He retorts settling back to rest and I guess his probably right to a point and agree to apologize to Gamora.

"Fine. I'm sorry I snapped at you Gamora. Just gimme the flarking case and I'll fix myself while you watch, since I probably can't make you leave. Deal?"

"No. You sit down, hold still and let me do that. You can't properly treat your shoulder anyway and it's the most heavily lacerated area if your wince from mere touch by Peter is of any indication." I feel like I should argue the point but seeing her stance and set jaw, I figure its best to just get on with it and hunker down on one of the travel trunks and just drop the towel down to my waist. "Happy now? Seen the freak, go ahead get disgusted." I mumble while trying to calm down for the upcoming 'groping' and almost do the unthinkable by thinking of grooming my tail between my teeth to occupy my mind. She doesn't say anything to it or about my freakishness, though I can clearly hear her deep inhale which to anyone else would have been the equivalent of 'holy hell, mother of god!' "Does your back currently hurt as well?" She asks as she opens the case to take out the med scanner. "No, just the shoulder." I admit with a sigh and avoid looking at her. I'm assuming from the rustle of fabric and her flowery scent getting stronger that she's leaning closer to look at something before I feel surprisingly gentle fingers parting the fur on my shoulder. "Okay, Rocky... When did you actually hurt that shoulder? There's something embedded in there and it's clearly been there awhile already. I can see the lumpy pustule just under the skin." I shudder away from the touch. "Probably just one of my shoulder cybernetics misaligned from impact." I offer. Gamora has been avoiding the metal bits on my body as she slowly scrubs off any remaining residues from our latest battle with a fine comb.

"Not according to med scanner." She reminds me, bending over to grab more stuff from the box that I can't see without turning my head. "I think it's a shrapnel and you probably pushed it deeper when you landed on the shoulder this morning." She comments before adding some of my least favorite words. "hold still. This is going to sting a bit. I'll lance the pustule to drain it and get the shard out." I can literally smell as well as feel it when she punctures the skin, lancing the festering boil formed around the foreign object. "No fear, I'll be quick about it. I've got practice..." she reassures me and true to her word, she doesn't dither with digging it out with a pair of tweezers and soon drops the ceramic metal shard on the tray to show it to me."I think it's from a fletchette gun." I offer sheepishly. "The tip is from a semi-barbed type-D anti-personnel, I think." She agrees easily and gets to work on cleaning my shoulder and other scrapes with disinfecting spray. "It looks clean enough, hold still. I'll need to staple this shut." She says right about the moment I nearly jump from the feel of something cold against my skin before the rapid successive stings from the stapler drowns the urge.

"Thanks, I guess" I mutter, gauging up my shoulder myself and roll it gently to test its movement. "Anytime, besides you'd do the same for me, right?" She waves dismissively while disinfecting the tools before placing them back into case. "Yeah, sure. Just ask." I lie easily and then wonder if it really is as much as a white lie as I think it to be.

"Wanna drink? I've got some good stuff." I offer as thanks and start to dig inside one of my trunks for a T-shirt, clean cups and the bottle of booze. "Sure, though I don't really get anything from it. Iron liver, you know... Thanos, thought it as a weakness." she sighs taking a sip from her cup. "Funny, mine's pretty much the opposite. Booze is like the only thing it doesn't filter... I just pass out like a candle when my cybernetics detect too much in my blood." I confess and take a second helping of the raw liquid right from the bottle mouth before passing it to her which she politely declines. Opting rather to just relax and watch me taking sips from the bottle while I tinker with one of my many guns. It's actually pretty cozy scene if you can overlook the fact that its comprised of two cyborgs and a talking tree, drinking booze and fixing guns.

"Okay, now what?" I grumble when I suddenly feel myself starting to float up before plopping down and then going up again before I even hit the floor. "I think the gravity generator is malfunctioning." Gamora remarks. "No shit." I grumble as I 'swim' towards the door before I and everything else in the room crash painfully back down on the floor before starting to float up again in a few seconds, though I'm forced to admit that a brownish, floating ball of booze possesses a rather peculiar idiosyncrasy to me. "I think I'm going to be sick!" I curse, trying to keep the queasiness down as I scramble through the doorway Gamora and Groot 'floating' after me. On a hindsight that's probably when things started to go apart -literally. The Milano is the most permanent 'home' I've ever had and that's saying something considering that this Milano 2.0, as Quill calls it at times, is barely even four months old. There was almost nothing worth salvaging from the old gall after the battle of Xandar except some of our personal effects, few interior trimmings here and there and parts of the fuselage.

That something was breaking in the Milano was almost given, as she was in fact a very old model not known for its reliability even when new. I did have its perks, chief being its modular nature, which was probably why Star-lord had chosen it in the first place. While much of the ship parts had been replaced by Nova upon rebuild, many of the key components had been near impossible to find as new on such a short notice. Unfortunately you can't make an M-ship without using M-ship parts and that means refurbished and retooled parts. Those never work quite as good or last as long as new genuine parts. Such as this heater I'm fixing right now. And with the mileage we were giving her... We really should be using only the best-in-store.

This heater unit I'm now fixing hadn't been the first part to blow up today after the takeoff from Bonh-IX. The first had been the gravity field generator malfunction some 4h after takeoff, which had caused a cascading failure throughout the ship and I've been forced to spend the last 18 hours in fixing and hunting problems once I had gotten the gravity generator running again, because Peter whined that he couldn't do anything because his hand was 'swollen and hurting like a bitch from being bitten' by me. Sounds like an excuse to me, so what if it's getting kinda puffy red? I've seen worse. Gamora readily admitted that she knew practically nothing about starship maintenance and Drax isn't much better than her at it, though he offered to lift any heavy objects as needed. Groot knows a lot about these things but his way too big to be able to actually help with much of anything. I should know, having seen what he could do when he was just a sapling and had appendixes more befitting to fine motory work. When he grows big even those tiny tendrils of vine lose some of their sensitivity or so he tells me. Meh, I think it's more about him having almost no interest in worthwhile hard sciences like engineering.

"Will my vocal presence pose hindrance to your work, Rocket?" Drax asks sitting cross-legged on the floor so his at eye level with me while I'm working. It was his way of asking if I'm bothered by him and that he wanted to ask something personal. That literal muscle mountain was pretty easy to read once you got past his weirdly eloquent way of speech. Contrary to popular belief he isn't stupid and could comprehend puns and metaphors just not most of them. "Well speak up then. It's not like I've got much better things to do." I grumble in response while carefully rasping the hexagonal metal piece round with an electronic file to eventually form it into carved jewelry bracelet. I don't think it looked like much yet, just some flowery vines and tight swirls carved on some very large hex lug nut taken from an engine I'd found on our last trip to planetside. It should look better once I've etched it a bit with acids to bring out the carved layers more. I'm pretty sure she'll like it once its ready.

"Is it true what you said about being torn apart and put back together again over and over, back at the boot of Jemiah on Knowhere?" He asks and I'm shocked enough at the question that I stop working and turn to scowl at him."What I mean is, was it just a metaphor or... not. It has bothered me for some time now." He quickly elaborates, seeing my confused glare. I turn away, trying to think of what to say. "No Drax. It's not a metaphor of any kind, now leave me be. I don't want to talk about it." I say, hoping to brush it aside. Should have never let them know about that but the genie was out of the bottle and wishing wouldn't get it back in there.

He looks strangely at me then but doesn't say anything more except "I apologize for bringing this up. It was insensitive on my part." When he finally leaves my workshop, I watch him go, unsure of what was all that about and focus back to my actual work, which is not the bracelet to be for Gamora but one of the three heating units of the ship.

The heater is now almost done, it just needs to be recalibrated and refilled with coolant fluids, which we currently don't have in stock. Need to talk with Peter about that. A starship should have all the vital component parts onboard at all times -including the necessary fluids. I'm so tired I could probably sleep with my eyes open. 'I'll just make the note on my digi-pad and care it later. Just one more things to do' - I decide as I yawn and scratch the note with freehand and pinch myself to stay awake.

Can't fall asleep now, this thing isn't done yet, yeah... Dang it! The damn screwdriver slipped, shit my hand fell numb. Need to focus... more. I'm sure we're all going to freeze to death unless I get all three heaters fixed in three hours. I knew we should've bought that auxiliary module... My head feels heavy and I close my eyes just for a second to reduce the fatigue building up.

I lift my head back up with a jerk, waking on the sound of screwdriver clattering down from the table, pushed by my limp hands. My head feels groggy and... What is this thing draped over me, how long have I been asleep? It's a thermal blanket. I'm pretty damn sure I didn't have one over my shoulders last night. Why would anyone do such a thing for me and personally suffer from the frigidity through the night-cycle as a consequence? I've got a thick coat of fur, I can manage even though the ship does get pretty damn cold when a heater unit breaks while in space, even when it's just one of three. I can't make out the scent of the person who brought it, it's too mixed with mine by now. My digi-pad's still here but someone has read the short notes and suggestions about parts & repairs I'd penned on it. The heater unit I had fixed is gone too and so is the engine noise.

My workshop is a former storage space I've repurposed to myself, no bigger than three by two by two _gretches._ I've decked that useless (to me) 2 _gretch_ room height with closed wall compartments full of parts and tools and have stuffed an old and battered steel workbench against the sidewall, which takes about half of the floor space, the rest serving as a storage for my unfinished inventions and gadgets. I don't mind, I have a habit of sitting hunched on the workbench anyway, where the light is better, rather than at the floor or chair when I'm working. That still leaves me plenty of room to work in. The space sits almost neck to neck between the main thrusters but above the main power source and fuel cells, which are accessible via hatch, situated under my work table. So there's always that low reverberating hum in the air around me when we're in flight, which I find comforting. It's part of the reason why I set my workspace here.

Sometimes when I've felt sore and tired of everything and have had one of those unsettling thoughts or dreams about my body being more machine than flesh, that if I'd peel my skin off, I'd find no blood or sinew but machine oil, gears and wires, that my mind could be rewritten and erased with a simple code and a push of a button, That I'm just a meat puppet parroting his program. Then I come down here and quietly listen in on their dual hum to reassert myself that I am not a machine nor just an artificial being grown in a clone vat, that I am a real person, that my thoughts are more than just the sum of my parts, That I'm in control of myself, there's nobody pushing a button that makes me hop and skip as they please. That I am a being with a mind of his own regardless of the cybernetic augmenting, gene splicing, psychological programming and behavioral conditioning. That any choice I've made since Halfworld were mine and mine alone to make. I'm also intelligent and self-assertive enough to acknowledge that this kind of wariness hurts my ability to work with others but I'm also too stubborn to just let it go and easily accept that sometimes someone else might actually know better than me.

The fact that the engine hum has petered down to almost too low for even me to hear usually means we've landed on a planet or space station, but we can't have landed yet. We still had almost 10h of flight left before reaching Xandar and there aren't any suitable planetoids or stations to stop or restock for repairs in between. Yet the gravity doesn't quite feel like when being on a planetoid nor do I hear anyone else moving inside the ship. I shake the last cobwebs of dream from my mind and drape the blanket securely around my shoulders. It really is kinda cold in here and the air feels musty, I note with my breath misting a little. Something's seriously not right I deduce and decide that it's time to get my guns and find out just what the flark's going on around here and maybe get the power back on line before the back-up runs dry too and we all freeze to death.

 


	4. For to me time is at the essence part I

**For to me time is at the essence  
part I**

 

Make no mistakes about me. I know what I am and what I'm capable off as a cyber-genetic uplift with senses enhanced even beyond my base species, and if I can't sense the presence of my crewmates inside a ship as small as this -then they aren't here. Normally I'd be freaking out because that would mean the ship to be drifting aimlessly in space. But this time it's a different foreboding that I feel as I make my way up to the cockpit to check from the consoles and gauges where we are and where we're heading to. I note in passing that someone has tried to fit the heater unit back in but apparently that person forgot it has no fluid inside, so it's about as useful as an ass-in at my elbow would be until its topped. Everything seems to be in order at the cockpit. Unlike most people flying a space ship like this, I've never placed as much stock to what's standing in-front of me beyond the cockpit canopy as I have on what the instruments are telling me. Right now the event logs tell me that we were having some kind of space weather-thingy earlier which the sensor couldn't make heads or tails out off, no messages left to me in any of the view screens or log entries and a pretty frigging huge spaceship is looming outside-or more proper phrasing would be; extends across and over the whole view since we've apparently landed inside its ship hangar bay. That would certainly explain the odd feeling gravity and with a bit of arbitrary assuming, the most probable current whereabouts of my companions.

Looking at the readings again, it seems that the ship/station/man-made-object or whatever it is, has if not fully habitable then at least nominally survivable atmosphere without the need for EVA-suit. That is a plus, so is the fact that its atmospheric temp is closer to thawing than freezing Also another bad one besides the fact that this thing's not supposed to be here, is the noticeably increased cosmic background radiation. I'm guessing its shields are no longer functioning properly. By everything I know from looting various derelict wrecks and abandoned space stations, is that this thing should have been about as cold as the vacuum surrounding it and have no atmosphere to speak of left. Yet the damn thing has even some of the lights still on.

No wonder Quill must have thought it, I paraphrase -'the coolest shit ever' to, I paraphrase again 'go check it out' and the rest of those 'idjets' followed, leaving me to sleep it off. Looking at the displays again, a quick glance at sensory sweep-log confirms my worry. In exactly 12 hours from now this ship bay and everything else in it, including the Milano despite her intact shields, would be baked by cosmic radiation from the nearby neutron star that's locked in binary system with a red giant-class star. Like all ships capable of warp and particle drive, the Milano is equipped with sturdy radiation shielding. Unfortunately like most smaller ships, it can't take a direct neutron pulse and once that massive pulse hits, its game over and everything biological dies puking their guts out and inorganic will become so irradiated that they'll glow in the dark well into the next millennium.

I'm contemplating on what to do. Their communicators are either out of range or the background radiation interferes with them. I've no idea if they're already heading back, gotten into trouble or even aware of the coming flare. Only a few months ago I'd have felt no guilt or even hesitation towards leaving this team to die... What do I really owe them? Nothing, if I'm dishonest to myself. Nothing except the fact that Peter and Groot are the only beings who've never called me anything derogatory. Pete's also fun to drink with -nah, who am I kidding? No he isn't but it's not like I have that many options when it comes to company at pub crawls... Drax helped me to regrow Groot and kept me going when I thought I'd lost him. Gamora -she's my peer support cyborg, someone to keep me sane and to relate with, I guess? I realize I'm dithering in hopes of not having to leave the safety of the Milano- 1h gone and they haven't come back yet and the comms are staying silent.

'Flark my life. Why am I doing this shit...?' I find myself muttering aloud while dressing up properly for leaving the ship and stuffing all kinds of things into my daypack. Stuff like small tools, a couple of different analyzers, First aid kit, a few food rations, color spray to find laser and infrared lines in case of intrusion prevention systems still being active... That sort of stuff plus my photon pistols and a few bombs. People call me paranoid behind my back but that's what's kept me live all these years. Expect the worst but hope for the best. I'm not in a good mood when I'm leaving the ship. I decide its best to leave the ship unlocked incase one of the others come back while I'm gone. I even left a note that literally spells it out -it's a voice mail, as I don't often write on surfaces with freehand, my handwriting looks too clumsy.

I stop at the foot of the gangplank to look at my wrist computer and note that I have near exact 10h to find those four dumbasses and get the flark out this 'space hulk' before we all fry. I make a sudden start at the metallic clang near me. I take the large wing nut into my palms from the floor and look around curiously. It's not a nut fallen from the Milano. I shrug and pocket it without a second glance seeing as there's no one but me here even though I'm almost sure I could've heard someone calling at my name. 'Weird, better not let this place get under yer skin'. I tell myself and move on.

The air feels stale and while its cold it's not too frigid. The hangar bay is even bigger that I thought. Though its fully lit I can't even see the ceiling. I estimate the hangar to be at least several hundred _gretches_ wide in every direction. If I'm not wholly mistaken this bay was once operated by some kind of robotic-system to stack incoming and outgoing ships. I think it's safe to assume that its now defunct even though I'm pretty sure I'm detecting the faintly hum of working machinery and gears grinding within the structure itself. The Milano is currently landed on the hangar 'floor' and I'm fine with that. The last thing we'd need would be some malfunctioning robot valet fucking around with the ship when we are trying to leave in a hurry.

Something about the meticulously even placement of the many similar looking doors leading out of the hangar bay area, fully functioning automated slide away blast doors by the way, is familiar to me but I can't quite place why. I'm probably thinking about some old military installation I've visited at some point. As I've expected, there's no dust anywhere and the walls are smooth 'n pale titan white but oxidized enough from age to no longer quite shine like new and I'm starting to wonder if I'm able to find my team before becoming hopelessly lost myself. Attempting to scratch or mark the walls with a pen or paint proves useless and I'm almost hundred percent sure that they're also laser proof. I realize I'm going to have to start counting my steps and dropping down things on the floor to mark my passage and that's when I know what this place is and why this layout feels so familiar... I turn around to go back and realize there's no door to go back anymore.

_I'm panting from exertion and feel happy, even a touch proud of my achievement. It's got to be the best time I've managed so far. Especially when it's a level five maze. The handler barely looks at me, apparently finding his smart watch more interesting than me. "Do it again you little gargoyle." He grunts pointing at the maze entrance with his shock stick. "Well, chop-chop!" He grumbles when I'm hesitating. I sigh knowing there's nothing else to it but to do as he says. This handler looks new. I'm not sure if he knows that I know I'm not supposed to repeat the tests too many times in a row to eliminate the possibility of me memorizing the mazes and thus skewing the resulting data over time. Of course they probably don't know that I could do these stupid mazes much faster now if I'd wanted to but I've already learned that they become suspicious If I'm 'progressing' too fast with a repeated test or regressing for that matter. Moderation is the thing, not too slow but not too fast and they won't have a reason to take you back there, back where the pain is... to poke you, to question you and to... readjust something inside you and then make you do it all over again but this time you're raw and bloody, fresh from the tune-up. They don't care if you're miserable, tired and in pain. They only care about the results, that their 'fix' works and you... You do everything you can to prove how well their latest 'fix' works because if you don't..._ _It's back to the_ _table_ _._

Hundred and twenty-one steps from the first to second door and I drop a spanner down. The door slides open and I peer into the room. 'pressure plates, prr-leease.' I notice almost amused and brandish my trusty screwdriver. Though I have to wonder why anyone would bother with creating a huge maze to float in space and then fill it with traps.

Fifth 'room of death' cleared and I'm no longer amused nor can I really turn back, it's likely no use and I'm running out of things to drop or rather things I think I can live without. I'm slowly getting pretty sure that the layout of this place isn't 'right' nor does it follow the conventions of standard physics. I have what laypeople tend to call as eidetic memory and with a bit of memory recall, know from the size of the rooms I've passed and the orientation of hallways between and the number of steps I've taken, that there SHOULD have been a wall behind this bend. There is no wall. Just another hallway which abruptly stops after another 'impossible' bend. At the end is a kind of a window which according to laws of physics should be viewing to another room I've already gone through but it doesn't. I look at my wrist computer and realize that I've only eight hours left. Three hours wasted and no sign of my friends. I'm about to step closer to this 'window' , which is more like a piece of wall missing than a window, but stop on my tracks when I start paying notice to what is behind the window. The window is giving a view to the hangar bay from high above the floor area but there's no way I'm that high. I should have felt the sloping of the floors. Something's not right with my view, I notice. There's the Milano just as I left her and... I can see a furry creature walking out -It's me. A chill goes down along my half-artificial spine. I yell at myself to stay at the ship and not go wandering about but somehow anything I yell becomes distorted and muffled by the strange acoustics of this place. I realize I could yell myself hoarse and I still wouldn't be heard by the people below. I'm not sure why I did what I'll do next. I take the large wing nut I had found earlier from my pocket and throw it towards myself at down below. It barely misses me, landing with a loud clang. He startles and picks it up, looking around curiously before moving on and dooming me to wander these halls forever. 'Great job numbskull, next time write a note to go with it' I scold myself sarcastically when the thought hits me after the deed.

All mazes had their own inner logic and adding time was just another layer. First I'd need to test how this particular maze was operating... 'It's not much but it's a theory'. I tell myself as I retreat several paces, close my eyes and turn around walking behind the bend and count to ten before turning back around to return to the 'window'.

I'm not sure what to think of the results of my little experiment. No change at all though I have a tentative feeling of weight to my consciousness as if I'm pushing against something with my mind. It's not hard or obvious in anyway and I doubt I'd had even noticed without my unusual 'upbringing' as a lab rat in a place where tests of perception alteration were just part of the weekly routine. Still, I can't help but wonder what else does this place mess with besides time and mind? I'm starting to have certain suspicions about the importance of the view to hangar bay and if I'm right the hangar is both the end and the beginning of this maze. It seems to operate in four dimensions instead of the more traditional three. The problem with time as part of a maze is that you can't really tell which direction it's going from your POV until after fact and you can't really tell against whose time yours is measuring and comparing to.

The 'window' is the same but the view isn't, or rather it's still the same but the Milano looks 'dead' for the lack of better words to describe it. Faded, like it hadn't been used for a very long time. I sit down at the edge of the drop, I put my feet dangling down as a deep sigh escapes from my lips. I'm not sure how long I've been sitting there when I notice a familiar figure down below. Groot!

I'm still in the process of sorting out what to throw at him to get his attention since yelling is no use when I notice that there's no need, his already somehow realized I'm up here and is busily growing vines to reach up to me.

I stand there frozen and uncertain until the vines reach the window. Numbly I take the opportunity to use them to climb down. Groot retracts his vines when I'm safely down. He greets me warmly but sounds oddly reserved and I notice that he looks slightly larger than the last time I've seen him fully grown -Which was at Xandar before we'd had our fight with Gamora & Peter. "You look good big guy, so where's the rest of those idjets?" He looks at me then as if contemplating on how to put it into words. "I'm sorry but I can't talk about it Rocket and I'm not really your Groot, if that makes any sense to you but I believe it does in the context." I glower up towards him momentarily. Groot could get really annoying when he gets to this state but I guess I should listen to what he has to say. "Well go on, We've got about eight hours before everything dies from cosmic radiation." He shrugs to this in his tree-like fashion. "Yes, but not I and not you. We too will become trapped here, unless I give you this... It's your own design. Keep it with you to guide your path and free yourself from this." He says while making an arc with his arm and offers a small pendant, like a sea compass in a string, to me. I stare at him and take a quick step back.

"No, no, no! Don't give it to me you dumbass! It'll create a time-loop paradox if my future-self gives me the doohickey which I can't make without having received it from my future-self which will then erase him."

"But it's the only way you can find the other Guardians without becoming entrapped yourself, you said so yourself, in the far future of course."

"And since we're discussing about it now, the loop has already formed. Flark my life, just gimme the thing and I dunno..? Let's hope I'm not seeing _you_ here in 20 years or something equally as lame, I guess."

He looks at me as if to say something but instead he extends a vine to gently touch my cheek, growing a small flower at its tip to place behind my ear before nodding. "I would hope not. For your sake as well as mine."

I take the flower from my earlobe and turn it around in my paws, it's green stalked with a mass of tiny white petals surrounding the button-like sun yellow center. There's no discernible odor but somehow it reminds me of summery fields. I put the flower back on my brow to rest against my ear and search for Groot with my gaze but his gone. Left while I'd been engrossed with the flower. I take a closer look at the tubular 'compass' and turn it around carefully. It looks simple and elegant but looks can deceive and if it's something I've made for myself, then there's a good chance that it's much more complex on the inside than what it looks like on the outside and under no circumstances I really, really shouldn't open and prod it with analyzers to see how it works...

 


	5. For to me time is at the essence part II

## For to me time is at the essence part II

## -Farther bound-

 

The compass needle starts to turn and the casing vibrates slowly but increases in pitch as I walk and I'm pretty sure it's idiot proof enough that even a Terran could use it. There are but a few simple keys for settings and as I test them, I can see that its using The Milano as 'the compass north'. Apparently it also somehow tracks my missing team mates. This should make my job SO much easier though I wouldn't bet on it in this place. I stuff the compass under the vest against my skin to keep it absolutely safe. The thing feels a bit tight in there digging on my chest but it's manageable especially since I can feel the vibration against my skin when the needle turns.

I watch the door to hangar area disappear after walking through it into yet another white corridor. I could probably reopen the door if given the right tools and enough time. As far I can tell it's based on relatively simplistic matter rearrangement of meta-materials. None of which is really important to me right now.

I don't think I've taken more than fifty paces when I feel it and turn around ears perked and guns flying in to my outstretched hands but there's nothing there, and yet... I shake my head irritably and holster the guns. 'Too much coffee and stims.' But I can't shake the feeling of foreboding. The feeling that something's there, just beyond the corner of my eyes.

There's a flicker of movement again and I turn whipping my guns out to shoot. To shoot at my own reflection from a wall and I let my guns drop, scolding myself for being so jumpy and while my wonderfully infallible memory insists that there really wasn't something there my instincts are making my hackles rise. This constant dichotomy between my gut-feel and other senses is slowly making my brain hurt.

Something's not right. I face another turn, noticing how this section seems to have fewer rooms when I hear yelling and running. A human yelling. -'Quill! I'm frickin' coming!' I yell back brandishing a gun in both hands as I dart behind the corner to meet him halfway. Only there's nobody there. The god darned hallway is completely deserted. Interestingly the noise I heard has pulled me into exact opposite direction to where the compass was pointing. I don't like this, I don't like this a one bit. It's one thing to be misled because that's what a maze was supposed to do, but to be misled on purpose. I growl loudly from anger as I turn back and decide to cut through one of the rooms. Someone was going to... Pay... For... This!

I am completely disorientated momentarily when the whole scenery shifts to something else as I walk into a room which seems to be giving into a some kind of... Habitat? I fall forward on my knees amidst soft mosses and the door closes and fades behind me... Real trees? I frown in consternation, what was I supposed to do? I can't recall. 'It's probably not that important anyway' I tell myself to shrug it off, feeling strangely carefree as I adjust my green sleeveless tunic before following the sound of rushing water wafting through the trees. Lylla would be waiting -probably, she loved swimming almost as much as she'd admitted loving me but something about this was itching me the wrong way.

She's just as I've recalled her to be -wanted her to be. Standing coyly by the small campfire before wading into the pond under the small waterfall. She entices me to join her by splashing the water and dropping her green & golden Sari-gown half-way down. She doesn't have implants visible on her supple brown-haired body the way I do. Unlike me she's perfect in every way. Unscathed and unsullied. "Come Rocky wouldn't you like to swim with me? The water is lovely and warm today. We can warm align fire when we're done if you're worrying about your implants getting wet." She beckons and I ache to join her company but something's still not like it should be even though this is what I've always wanted. I feel a sharp tug of pain in my head and look back and past at her trying to figure it out. "Give me a minute my head's hurting right now". I say as I sit down on the bank. "Oh Rocky I know just the thing... and I know you're going to enjoy it." She replies enticingly and that's when I really stare at her. Enticing, her? Lylla had been a lot of things aside from being my first and only real 'crush' but she'd never been enticing in this manner, demure and romantic for sure but openly suggestive about taking it to next level? never that. I scramble backwards when she wades across the shallow shoal and reaches out for me. I feel something cold resting against my chest under the tunic and rebut her with a shove when it feel as If my mind is suddenly making a somersault from a sudden eidetic flashback of what really happened to a certain otter named Lylla and it isn't anything idyllic or romantic.

"No, no, nooo! this is not RIIGHHT!" I scream. The illusion breaks and I'm wreathed in mental agony as the waves of psychic backlash roll over me. The impossible scene is now melting like wax and I fear I'm losing myself, losing my mind into this dream within a dream. I grasp at straws -straws that melt from my touch, then I start pulling hairs in my head, anything to ground myself among the shreds of tattering reality. It's over and I'm left to stare at the empty white room. I feel like I'm going to be sick and roll aside, finally giving in for the urge of puking my guts out. I'm not sure how long have I spent there, kneeling and shivering, before I'm able to continue on again.

* * *

Peter. Man he looks like shit. His hair is all a mess, shirt's sweat soaked and torn and his jacket had been left someplace else along with his mind, Judging from the way he stares in front of him without registering me despite me standing right in front of his kneeling form. It's fairly safe to assume that he's been gripped by that same malevolent presence that's been clawing at the back of my mind. Scratching and hissing but unable to gain a purchase.

"Peter? Hello, Terra to Peter...?" I shout waving my hand in front of his kneeling form. No reply. Well, okay he did say something but I don't call those stupid bawls about Mom and not wanting to leave her as a reply to me. I ball my palm into a fist and smack him on the cheek.

That does the trick. The shock of sudden pain breaks the mesmerizing. He takes a hasty step back, shivering and hitting the wall with a thud and stares around him as if seeing his surroundings for the first time. "Rocket... how, where's, what? Did I really-!" He blurts trying to figure out what's happening, mouth running before his brains can catch up as per frickin' usual.

"We're still in that flarking thing you idgets felt necessary to dock in and investigate." Comes my acerbic reply.

"The fuck is going on in here Rocket? First we were just checking and sizing up the place to see if we could salvage anything valuable and I suggested us to split up to save time. Next thing I know...-" He says shaking his head a little to clear 'the cobwebs'.

"Some kind of hyper-advanced brain-dance shit  and weird time-warp effects but that's not the important part. What's important is that we've got about 5 hours to get the frakk out of here or become fried by cosmic radiation." I interject sternly.

"Brain dance! The fuck? I mean I've no idea what the fuck that is but it sounds nasty?" He asks and I'm yet again to wonder how the man's brains function. Of all our current problems he sticks to that?

"Stim-Sim A.KA Stimulant-simulation. It's like a full body holo-vid session at the holo-gambling parlors but feels more real, more immersive and infinitely more dangerous 'cause it stimulates the brain parts directly."

"Now wait a minute, that's impossible! No way they could do that without anyone of us knowing."

"They, Whose they? And no, it's very possible and the experience is quite the real deal when you're being Stim-simmed Quill." I say turning to face him with my gun raised.

"They, -the people who made all this shit." He clarifies quickly and I lower my gun before he continues. "You said dangers. What kind of dangers, Rocky?"

_"Roy! Oh shit, Roy..!" I can't seem to stop shaking after seeing his empty still open eyes. I heard it, heard him blowing up on a mine. All that's left of the onetime fox dog-face is his head. It had arced down from the sky and dropped right into my lap. Still wearing the helmet and fur smoking little tendrils from the bloody neck stub's edges. I was lucky, laying down in the ditch and covering for his advance. Even in death he'd retained that stupid smirk that always crept on it when anyone mentioned this forsaken group of G.I's called the 'Toy unit'. Toy unit in a Toy war. How fuck-de-doodle-doo apt. I'm woken up from the stupor by my Group leader. Sarge Wally's voice is ringing in my head-set, asking about the explosion. I'm still shaking but my voice is steady. "R0-y8's KIA, Sarge. He stepped on a mine. Requesting pioneer assistance to advance further into sector Gamma-eight-six." And that's that. Another one bites the dust but you don't think about it, because you'll fall apart if you do. That shit never happens to you, it happens to someone else, some poor Chuck, anyone but you and the day you stop thinking like that is the day you invite shellshock. They say's that only three kind of guys return from a war, the dead, the wounded and the crazy. I wasn't going to be anyone of the holy trinity but I'm starting to doubt my conviction. Night is falling fast at this planet, I observe with small relief. At night the Walkers wouldn't operate and we'd get a moments respite. I slowly climb out of the ditch and return to HQ-site when the relief forces arrive. I feel tired and miserable. We've been at this war for Maker knows how long and it doesn't seem to end any time soon. I try not to think about it as I lay my pallet down under a leafless tree next to some ruined wall amid the three other beddings already laid there. I'm beyond care, all I want is to fall asleep and probably never to wake..._

_And I open my eyes to reality instead. That's how the Stims are operated there. To fall asleep or die is to drop out of Stim, it's a safety procedure of sorts. They may not care that much if one of their products 'dies' during the Stim-simulation because while you don't actually die that often, even thought it can happen, they do care if we start dropping from over-exposure to Stimming. A harsher reality where I'm strapped from my appendixes to a vetruvian ring with a bunch of wires 'n tubes running to and from my body and it's orifices into various medical machines and computer units. I'd growl if I could trough the combined breather mask-muzzle. If I could turn my head freely I'd see many more fur bodies similarly jacked-in. I hate these training simulation. Sure, you might not really die even if you fuck up but what difference does it make if the mental scars are even more severe? One of these days I'm going to break free and strap those assholes in their shiny lab coats into this torture ring to suffer and die over and over and over in some shitty random-ass, no-win battle scenario only to watch their bodies to finally give out...Yeah, especially that one dimple-faced pinkly-skinned asshole over there, always working in double-time to get us right back in to our personalized simulated hell, should any of us drop out early._

"-Rocket?!" I'm returned from my thoughts with a jolt from Peter. "WhAAT!" I yelp feeling disoriented.

"You okay buddy?" He asks with slight concern and it annoys me.

"I'm fine why wouldn't I be?" I grunt fetching Peter his gun from the floor as a distraction.

"Don't know man, you tell me? I asked you about the dangers of 'stimming' and you just stood there staring ahead." He says putting his gun back into belt loop.

"You don't eat and you don't drink while Stimmed and eventually your body starves and/or your kidneys fail if you're not periodically woken up or the stimm session ends so you can do those bodily needs. It's why the Megacorps have never dared to release this shit to home consumer markets. Some governments and clandestine organizations still use them for quick & dirty training and even imprisoning by putting the thing on endless loop, though not the Nova or Kree." I reply matter of fact-like because that what it is, just a fact.

"So this whole god damn place is just a -a one huge 3D-arcade hall?" Peter exclaims wide eyed.

"I dunno what a 3D-arcade is Petey but If I'd had to guess, I'd hazard to nope, but this may have been a training facility once." I shrug nonchalantly. It wasn't really important to me what this place had been in comparison to what it was now. "For whom? It's a god damn maze, that's what it is." Quill exclaims unhappily.

"How the frakk should I know? Come on, let's go find the others before we all cook. Might even find that shabby, ugly ass maroon jacket of yours on the way back." I grunt in reply, already at the door. "It's not ugly maroon, it's blood red and just a little worn-down." He pouts quietly and hastens his steps to keep up with me.

* * *

There are great many things I could name to not expect and one of them is the interesting fact that Groot and Drax were mostly unaffected by the strange mind altering properties of this place. In hindsight it was fairly obvious why; Goot is a plant-like alien and Drax...  Well Drax's species probably don't have the sort of imagination needed for this place to tap in fully, his species being as literal as they are. As it is, I nearly shoot Drax's head off from surprise when we bump into him and Groot at the hallway.

"Okay what the flark's up with the mean and green?" I grumble lowering my guns to look at Drax's crumpled form in askance.

Peter being Peter he practically pushes me aside to have a closer look at Drax. "What happened Groot?" He asks though it's pointless in the sense that I'm the only one who has any true understanding of what Groot is saying.

"He says that at first he started to mutter and sweat for no reason and then he suddenly started running in panic and Groot had to catch and hold him in place with his vines until he calmed down enough to stop running. He was going to stay put and wait for you guys to come back until they saw those others and Groot realized they should keep moving." I helpfully translate and shorten Groot's lengthy, many parted but only three-worded explanation without needing a prompt.

"Okay, so whose those others you run away from?" Star-lord comments and quickly checks his guns settings. "Yeah- Wait a minute we got other people here?" I ask face crunching. "I am Groot!"

"What do you mean 'of course there are' " I reply, mind already working on the assumption that his right.

His 'I am Groot' is accompanied with a Tree-like shrug to which I have to nod. "Makes sense in a way... and all the more reasons for us to scram from this death trap."

"Wait, yoo-hoo, lost in translation over here! What did he just say?" Quill demands impatiently.

"Groot thinks that the celestial body, that's about to fry us, isn't merely a source of radiation but is in fact distorting space-time together with its neighboring celestials gravity wells. To put this in Trade language, we might start seeing echoes and doubles of other people who were trapped here before us and even of ourselves and maybe even those who'll come here after us." I explain while trying to keep a neutral face for everyone's sake despite feeling about to freak out.

"So, like ghosts?"

"Ghosts aren't real Quill but those apparitions or what ever... They're far from ephemeral, mostly. I think so anyway. Never seen a time dilation-shadow before."

"Mostly? You don't know!" He inquires forcefully and I notice that I'm not the only one frowning at his tone. Groot coolly hums his three word reply to him stating the fact. "Ain't helping here man!" The man snaps back at him. Yep Quill's probably about to panic soon. I have a feeling that it's going to be a cyclic thing.

"Look, humie. I'm just a wicked smart cyber-genetic uplift cursed with an eidetic memory and way too many issues, and contrary to popular belief I don't know everything about every damn mechanical or scientific thing in the Galaxy or for that matter...Even what's going on in this place!" I raise my voice to cry out in frustration and rake my face with my paws for emphasis. Damn this stupid place... The angsty mood is catching on like a damn Jovian flu. Peter and Groot both blink for a moment before deciding it best to not comment on my outburst and Drax, Drax is still in his personal la-la land and completely unperturbed by us.

"Let's just get a move on, okay?"Star-lord finally suggests, breaking the awkward silence between us.

"Firsts sensible suggestion you've given in days." I grumble sarcastically and take the lead since I'm the one with the gizmo to keep us from getting lost while Groot carries the catatonic Drax and Peter looks and points his guns at every which direction while we're walking along the hallways as if it would do any good in protecting us...

* * *

"My father! Thanos, where are you hiding? By my father's bones!" She shrieks trashing wildly and then hugs herself tightly as if shielding herself from unseen blows.

"Hey guys, found her!" I yell as loud as I dare. She isn't catatonic the way Drax is. Even slapping or pinching hadn't done much on the big guy and I'm hesitant about touching or hitting her when she's trashing and cursing like that. You don't just slap the most dangerous woman in the Galaxy on the cheek and expect to survive. Piling in after me Groot sets Drax down on the floor as Star-lord carefully circles the pair of us, assessing something.

I jump and almost shriek like an animal when a shot suddenly whizzes by me and zaps her squarely between breasts. She stops her incoherent trashing and muttering and collapses on the ground like a puppet without strings when the shot dissipates.

"The hell was that for Quill!" I ask angrily turning to face him. "You're welcome Rocky." He grins cockily enough that I'd like to punch him. I glare at him for a bit longer before wordlessly admitting that stunning her was probably the safest option given her current condition. I'll still need to ask her about her mental shielding once we're safe. This place shouldn't be able to get past them and affect her like this if Thanos had been as thorough with his 'work' on his 'children' as he'd been described by her or... or this place is way more advanced than what I've assumed. My musing is halted by Gamora groaning softly. She lifts her head and opens her eyes to stare at us and rises to her elbows from the floor.

"I'm not sure what you two just did but it hurt like a bitch so don't do it again but thanks, I needed that jolt to snap out of it." She thanks sounding a little rattled by her experience.

"Quill shot you with a stun bolt. You were trapped in a stim-sim." I fill in. She looks to be okay all things considered and I can't smell any fresh blood so she isn't injured either. Probably just tired, I conclude to myself.

"That explains it." She comments with a curt nod and slaps away Peter's knightly attempts at helping her to stand up.

"Might wanna zap Drax too, while you're at it Quill." I suggest with a carefully cultivated nonchalance. He looks at me for a moment before shrugging and shoots Drax with the stun bolt. I'm hiding my slight disappointment when the bolt actually has the effect Peter assumed and not the more amusing one of Drax losing his bladder control and twitching like dead frog in an electric current that I had predicted.

It takes but a moment for Drax to realize where he is. Literal mind did have certain advantages over more flighty ones after all. He listens aptly as Quill explains what's going on. I interject Quill when his about to declare to Drax that we can just leave. "I didn't say that Peter. I only said that we need to get out like now."

"Why not? you said you can use that thing to guide us back to our ship." He asks almost petulantly.

"The bay doors are down and I couldn't find a mechanism to override them anywhere in the hangar itself."

"Well then we'll just shoot our way out!"

"In a laser fire proofed hold? Not gonna happen." I remind him.

"Well make a bomb then. You can do that can't you?"

"Nope, not gonna happen either. I mean I could make one big enough but there's no guarantees that it'll work instead of just killing us."

"Then what can we do aside from forcing the doors to open with our might?" Drax suggests in his certified candid fashion.

"Find the control room and override the whole installation?" I suggest half-jokingly since I'm not sure if Drax was really serious or not. Forcing open anything that weights in excess of 160 000 tons is too ridiculous to even suggest.

"Great, that's exactly what we're going to do next and kick some butts while at it." Star-lord announces looking exited. Gamora represses a sigh, I roll my eyes and Drax shrugs his shoulders enough to make them go 'pop' while Groot has more pressing concerns such as pruning excess leaves from his shoulder.


	6. For to me Time is at the essence part III

**For to me Time is at the essence part III**

**Perihelion**

 

What was that Terran saying? Oh yes; friends help you move, good friends help you move bodies. I'm not sure if we're there yet as a group but also hope I'll never have the need to find out either. I focus back to reality and raise my hand to tell the others to stop and give a hard glare behind me to get the point of keeping it quiet across. Peter looks like his bursting from wanting to ask what it is, Groot and Drax stand at the ready and Gamora draws her sword, ready like a predator about to spring. I cautiously peek behind the corner with just one eye.

Suddenly the target of my attention turns around ears perked and guns flying in to his outstretched hands but there's nothing there because I barely manage to duck back behind the corner in time... My trembling body is laying flattened against the wall behind a corner at the same time as I'm shaking my head irritably and holstering the guns and then looking elsewhere in just about this moment. It feels so strange to think myself in third person while being in two places at once and remembering every little detail at the same time and it's frankly trying to tie my eidetic brains into a knot because in a way I'm now having a stereo image of what went on before. I have a sick feeling in my stomach with a migraine of a century brewing up.

"What the fuck was that Rock? You look like you just saw a fucking ghost" Quill stage whispers to me. I groan back softly. "I saw myself and It flarking hurts my brains..."

"You wot mate? Let me see too." Quill blinks in surprise before poking his head behind the corner too see it with his own eyes and I get another crazy stereo flashback about me turning to whip my guns out ready to shoot and running at our direction after hearing Quill's garbled exclamation and now also the actual words. "Holy shit dude, you ain't pulling my leg here. You're there but you're also... here. Man this is so fuckin' weird!"

"Good damn it, Quill stop that shit! We've got to hustle, I'm coming back this way in seconds. You bald bodies are so frickin' loud." I groan almost pleadingly.

Peter looks at me concerned and grabs me without even thinking before pointing at one of the doorways while whisper yelling "This way guys quickly". He dashes through it carrying me at his lap like a child while the others follow at his heels and the door slides shut and then fades away, blocking our path back as we dash through the small room and into another hallway behind the door at the far end.

He sets me down and I slide against the wall to wait for the queasiness to pass. the cold metal feels good against the back of my throbbing head.

"So, now what Rocket?" Peter sighs kneeling next to me for eye contact and I can't help but wonder if I should take offence or not that his drawing unwitting attention to the fact that I'm much shorter than him by lowering down to my level. Does he not realize how patronizing that gesture is? I decide to let it slide for now despite the itch to make him pay for it.

"I wish to be free from this irritable abode. Can we not expedite it in any way?" Drax grumbles doing small circles and I can't blame the guy for the sentiment.

"For once I'm in agreement with him." Gamora mouths gruffly and gives a pointed glare at my direction. I glare back and fish out the compass from under the jumpsuit to adjust it.

I hear something faint. Metal scraping against... No, boots! -Metal soled boots against hard floor, I decide ears erect and paraboling like radar dishes. The others notice my tension and form a single line behind me at the corridor.

"Metal soled boots, not sure how many pairs, maybe twenty possibly less." I convey quietly and we creep forward not really sure if we wish to encounter whoever it was that owned those twenty pairs of magnetized combat boots. The next room we are to cross is much larger than the last but just as empty -too empty. I don't care, I just want to cross it to get some distance between us and the boot sounds. Gamora grabs me before I've taken two steps.

"Wait, there's something in the air. Filaments-". She whispers quickly before letting me go. I sop up the sudden touch and squint standing stock still.

"I don't see... Wait what filter were you using?" I ask as the matter dawns to me.

"Infrared, but they're visible on some other spectrums as well." She replies staring ahead at the large empty looking room.

"Tripwires?" Quill asks with a cute little kink forming on his brows as he squints to see what his physically incapable of seeing.

"Nah, just rays and some mono-filament, not sure what they trigger, so don't move until we've figured it out." I shrug as I try figure out how or what they're set to blow without touching anything yet. Ambient temp. difference, refraction or broken connection between light cells and just how sensitive would they be? I'd need to find the mechanism to know for sure... "I think it's a gas trap. I'm smelling traces of some kind of chemical in the air." I conclude sniffing the air carefully.

"Ohh, well that's no problem then? I mean if it's just gas, Groot doesn't need to breath and I've got my mask. Groot can carry both you and Drax through with his longer stride while I fly across with Gamora on my lap to that door on the other side. Just hold your breath and it's fine." Peter suggests and accompanies it with a 'see nothing to it'-shoulder swagger. Gamora frowns wordlessly at Peter's suggestion of carrying her and I shake my head to it.

"Yeah, and what if it's a chemical that's also skin absorbed? Groot is just as sceptical to those as any of us or nearly anyway, and your stupid mask isn't covering your whole body in hazmat genius."

"Oh, okay but I still think it could work." Star-lord protests mildly. I deign not to even reply as I open my 'survival kit' and get to work. I place UV-goggles over my eyes and use one of my spray cans to see the placing of the possible other types of invisible trigger lines such as lasers. I find none additional but that isn't why I'm doing this play at dismantling the trap. I need the time to think and best way to make them shut up was by making them believe that I needed the quiet for concentration. I strip the goggles from my eyes and brush the non-existent sweat away from my brow. I don't really sweat, it's a 'tick' I've taken upon from bald bodies who do sweat. I rise up from the crouch I've been and start putting my tools away.

"Is it done, Rocket?" Star-lord asks apprehensively.

I look up at him and shake my head. "No, I can't do anything without knowing about the mechanism."

"So we're screwed upside and down?" He sighs looking crestfallen. Weird how I'm feeling a sudden pang of regret for letting him down.

"Why would we become attached to another object by an inclined plane, then wrapped helically around an axis for being in great predicament?" Drax inquires carefully. The man hates to look like a fool for asking but at least his learned to ask us if something goes over his head. Though I have to admit that by putting it that way he does make 'being screwed' sound pretty educated.

Peter seems to blink for a second before brushing it aside. "Metaphor Drax. You know, for being ... in predicament."

"Oh, I suppose that goes to reason." The tattooed muscle mountain blithely agrees.

"So we go back?" Gamora says looking rather dubious at the thought, though for once our way back hasn't dissipated which makes me doubt its validity even more.

"Well, we ain't going through THAT. That's for damn sure." I retort pointing at the door on the far end of the room beyond the traps.

"Guys... I think we may have to trust my hunch and take the risk." Peter whispers his ear against the door we came in. I frown and focus to hear what his hearing from where I'm standing. Those footsteps were back and they were congregating right outside that door. Trust. There's that word again, trust. The last time I put all my trust on someone was when I got a syringe on my neck for the trouble. Luckily I proved to be a bit harder than that to sedate...

"Flark my life. Just so that you know Star-dork my trust in you is currently all-time low..." I kvetch and grumble in surrender as Groot grabs me and Drax -who isn't exactly complying at first though he obeys once I quickly lay him the math about the length of Groot's stride versus his own.

Star-lord fires up his boot rockets and speeds to the door with Gamora and punches at the panel with his outstretched arm almost in mid-flight and Groot jumps through the door almost right after them. I let out the breath I was holding in as soon as we've uncoiled from the heap we form against the opposite wall at the hallway behind the door.

"Prey this shit we got sprayed with isn't a skin absorbent nerve agent 'cause we've got that shit in clothes, skin, fur, everywhere, for sure now and Drax & Groot barely even wear clothes between them." I complain and almost shudder at suppressing the powerful itch to start scrubbing myself clean with nothing but my own tongue & saliva.

"Ohh, didn't really thought of that..." Peter admits sheepishly and I suppress another shuddering urge. This time for trying not to explode on the man. How could anyone be so, -so ignorant about ABC-weapons these days. I'm angry at myself too for not bothering to act on the fact before the deed.

"My nipples are very sensitive." Drax pipes in and we all gape at him. Like, what the hell dude? "Why I do not wear any upper body garments." He focuses matter of factly. Oh right, trust Drax to find the sensitive issues in a subject matter. I'm starting to wonder if it's the guy's literal way of joking or something? It's just too deadpan and well-timed more often than not...

"Oh, I always thought it was a cultural thing." Peter says. I have to suppress a giggle at the weird long look Drax gives to Quill.

"This is all very cute boys but could we get to flarkin' move on already?" Gamora Snaps at our dithering and she's probably right we shouldn't just stand around and banter all day covered in gods only know what kind of possibly nasty & lethal invisible death gunk.

"Yeah, sure. Right... this way." I hope so anyway as I'm taking the lead of our little group and adjust my 'compass' again.

We move forward to yet another white corridor, though something feels subtly different, a tiny bit less immaculate or perhaps more 'lived in and real' would be the right words and my companions also stiffen ever so slightly, indicating that they've noticed it too.

There's yet another sliding door. I glance at my team with a sideways glance. We're ready for anything now. who knows what horrors may lurk beyond. "Oh look, it's a room with a view." I note sarcastically when we realize that we've arrived to a space that's very noticeably different from anything else we've encountered so far.

It's a room -that goes without saying; but what a room it is. The walls of this half-parabole shaped room are of the same white meta-material as everything else seem to be in this place but what makes me gasp is that the arching side of the room has been taken by a huge panorama window opening into a view to space and there's furniture -yes furniture, well it looks kinda weird in style & execution but I know a museum slash trophy room when I see one. We stare at it in surprise at first and then slowly fan around the room. There's another door at the end of the display hall. An almost disturbingly immaculate white sitting divan, a few chairs and couple of empty display cases and lots of pedestals in varying heights.

"Man this window-" Star-lord says tracing his gloved finger on its surface.

I look up at him and sigh "Yeah, Idiotic thing. Who the hell would design such huge weak points on their ships?"

"I think it's kind of awesome." He defends.

I shake my head moving away from it as my sight scans and latches onto something else in the room. On an unassuming pedestal there's a transparent rectangular container. The container is further protected by a weak force field. Seeing how my finger can easily cross it, I'm assuming its more for preservation than a barrier against thieving talons in function. Strangely all other pedestals are either empty or displaying different art pieces but none draws me like this one here. It takes me a second to realize that it's because it's in state of constant excitement. My sub-consciousness is hard-wired to detect erratic motions after all and this thing resembling a futuristic lava lamp is anything but still.

Inside there's this iridescent mercurial 'blob' that is in constant slow writhing as if trying to settle for a shape. Peter and the other guardians notice my fascination.

"The hell is that stuff, Rocket?" Peter asks coming to stand next to me to peer at the container.

"I don't know but it's coming with us." I reply reaching out on my toes to pocket the container before Peter can say a word edgewise.

"Put it back Rocky! You've no idea what that thing does." He exclaims and I retract my fingers, dropping the container back on the pedestal before having really even moved it, with an itch to snatch it up anyway and run. But I don't and turn to glare at him. "Come on, Rock. You know it's got to have anti-theft devices or something... Nobody leaves his shit open for stealing like this, right?" Star-lord almost pleads.

"Ohh fine, I wasn't going to need that particular piece of glarking junk anyway." I grumpily agree and step away from the pedestal, following the team into next room.

This new room is- well, not exactly what I might have assumed but again it's 'furnished'. If you can count the machinery around the room as furniture. There are no windows here but the room is brightly lit with that same hard stark light as most of this 'labyrinth-ship' has been. We split around the large room to look for clues about what all these things are for per Star-lord's suggestion and hopefully there might be controls of some kind around here that we can use. I'm not fully confident on that. Most of the machinery looks high tech even to me and I know when I see something good. Judging from all the stations this place does control something.

What eventually draws all of our conjoint attention is the cryogenic pod at the eastern quarter of the room. Like most things it too has a slight dullness of age patina.

"It's a cryogenic pod!" Peter exclaims.

"And it's been here a long while. Wonder if the person inside is still alive." Gamora comments with much less enthusiasm than Peter.

"More importantly, who the heck is in it?" I point out.

"Would it not be most prudent to just ask him?" Drax says drawing our attention to a tall, heavyset black haired man in silvery armouring that was standing there not ten feet from us. I immediately notice that his carrying a sword at his side though it's not yet drawn even though it's out of its sheath. The stranger speaks before I've managed to fully turn and draw my guns and I let my arms drop deciding to hear what he has to say first. I could always kill the sucka' second later. Idiot to bring a sword to gun fight.

"Unusual company Rocket, I had thought a creature of your bearing to not care for such unsavoury comrady." He says in an usual lilting accent.

I take a double take on the guy and I'm pretty damn sure I've not seen this bloke in my life. "You on high or something, dude? I'm pretty flarkin' sure I'd recall if we'd ever met" I retort back.

The man cocks his head in a manner which makes me realize that his apparently blind. Trust Peter to say it out loud though. "Dude, you're totally blind!"

The stranger seems to regard all this for a second before answering. "Surely you jest Rocket. I'd find it unusual if you truly had forgotten me and yes, I am blind since birth. Come Rocket Raccoon, let us discus of the matters in private, you can bring your retainers with you if you wish. Our matter won't be that private."

"As long as you can find your way." I grumble trying to scramble for any piece of memory to figure out how this guy knows me.

"I always do, I was not named Wayfinder for no reason -ahh but how I've missed your cantankerous humor Rocket." And I blink again in confusion until it dawns me. He thinks me as someone that probably looks and talks exactly like me! Well sure let's humor the Krutaker for now and maybe we'll learn something new.

 


End file.
